Twenty Twenty!
by Mahala
Summary: Sequel to Seventeen. Flack and Mac. The boys are back! One-shot! Complete.


Don Flack rolled over and stretched. He opened both eyes and immediately shut them again blinded by the brilliant sunlight streaming into the room. For once he felt well and truly rested. As he sat up pushing aside the emerald green covers, the cell phone on the night stand jiggled it's way across the surface. Don grabbed the phone, answering it with a terse 'Flack'.

"Good Morning Handsome!" purred the voice from the other end of the phone. "Hope you're up and about because there's a body awaiting you!"

Don grinned "Would it be yours 'cos if so I'll be right over?" he quipped which caused his caller to convulse into hysterics, her peals of laughter echoing in his ear.

"I'll text you the address." she giggled. "And no not mine … though I wouldn't mind coming over right now and curling up with you under that lovely green comforter of yours!"

"Well, that could be arranged …" Don broke off suddenly. "What the hell! How did you know..." Before he could finish, the voice wished him a nice day and the line was cut. "Janice? Janice!" Don stared at the phone in disbelief and then looked suspiciously around his bedroom before getting up and checking out of the window. _How the hell did Janice from dispatch, a woman he had never even seen know he had a green cover on his bed?_ Don jumped despite himself as his phone vibrated in his hand indicating an incoming message. Glancing at the address Janice had sent, he decided he had better get a move on before Mac beat him to it.

Twenty minutes later, Don pulled up in front of a row of fashionable boutiques selling everything from clothes and jewellery to accessories for pampered pooches. Don couldn't resist looking in the store window. He cringed when he saw the matching outfits for dog and owner, and positively flinched when he saw the price. Some people have far too much money he decided. Continuing past the row of shops he greeted the two uniformed officers standing by the crime scene tape at the entrance to the alley-way between the shops and the office block next door.

"Morning Flack!" The elder of the two men smiled. "Good to see you back. How's the leg?" he asked referring to Don's recently sustained bullet wound.

"Pretty good thanks Ben. To be honest I'm glad to be back. It was getting pretty dull at home. How's Sandra doing? Baby arrived yet?"

Ben shook his head as he lifted the crime scene tape for Don to duck under. "No, already a week overdue. She's pretty fed up. It takes her all her time to get out of bed. Don't tell her I said so but she looks like a whale!" Don grinned and pulled a face as Ben laughed. "Anyway, got a John Doe for you. We spotted him when we got called to a break-in at the pooch parlour!" Ben gestured towards the store with his thumb as he accompanied Don into the narrow space between the buildings. Don's eyebrows lifted as he walked slowly towards the body spread-eagled in the alley.

"Obviously the nicer area of town!" Don indicated the alley. Usually New York alleys were full of trash and filth, the detritus of city living, but this one was immaculate. Apart from a neat row of green dumpsters and the dead body it looked like it had been freshly cleaned. There were no boxes, no papers, no trash, no cigarette butts. The graffiti had been scrubbed off the walls. It even smelled quite fragrant.

"Tell me about it! Would you believe they label their trash cans?" Don looked at the row of dumpsters, each one neatly labelled with the name and address of the corresponding store. "Does he look familiar to you?" Don and Ben stood side by side staring down at the scrawny and unshaven, middle-aged man dressed in dark jeans, tee-shirt, and wind-cheater. Don was surprised to see his gloves, hardly necessary in this heat. Although still early it was promising to be another hot one. The weather forecasters were taking top spot on all the news channels as the temperatures climbed higher every day and it looked like the record for longest hot spell was about to be broken. Don frowned as he looked closely at the man's face. Ben was right. He did look familiar.

"So what have we got?"

Lost in thought as they racked their brains for why the vic looked familiar, Don and Ben almost shot out of their skin. "Dammit Mac! Do you always have to sneak up like that?" Don glared at his friend.

Mac pretended to look affronted. "Sneak?" he asked in an offended tone. "I don't sneak Don! Approach stealthily possibly but never sneak!" Mac smiled. "Morning Ben! Hear that baby of yours is making you wait." Ben returned the smile warmly as they shook hands, touched that ever-busy Head of the Crime Lab would remember something like that. "So we have an ID?" Mac bent down to examine the body.

"No." Ben shook his head. "The rookie found him when we were called to a break-in at the pooch parlour." Mac looked up at him questioningly before glancing back to the entrance of the alley where a pale-faced young man stood nervously waving on passers-by. "Patty's Pet Accessories. Number Twenty. The glass on the font door has been broken and someone has forced the handle. They broke into the till but it was empty and they were trying for the safe which holds the float but the owner caught them in the act." Ben looked back down at the body. "I dunno, but he looks familiar."

Mac checked the man's pockets but there was nothing so he opened his case and took out his portable AFIS finger-print console. Carefully removing the vic's glove and placing it in an evidence bag, Mac pressed the man's finger to the screen and hit the transmit button. He placed it on the ground to wait for a result as he examined the wound on the side of the victim's neck. "Quite a deep wound. Cut straight into the jugular. Single blow from a sharp object." Mac made a stabbing motion with his hand. "From above and at an angle. Blood pool is undisturbed. Distinct cast off pattern. No defensive wounds. No signs of a scuffle. Suggests he knew his attacker." Mac looked carefully at the spots on the victim's tee-shirt. "The killer stood over him. Blood from the weapon dripped onto his shirt." He paused as he straightened up and looked around. "No obvious prints around the body. Unbelievable! This has to be the cleanest alley in New York. Ben can you search a two block radius for a potential murder weapon? You never know we might get lucky." Ben nodded.

"I'm off to do my interviews. I'll leave you to ..." Don broke off as the AFIS reader bleeped. Mac picked it up. "Wow that was quick!"

"Lennie Woodburn." Mac looked at Ben and Don whose faces both registered recognition. They both looked again at the body. "Breaking and entering. Robbery. Petty theft. Pick-pocketing. He's got quite a history."

"Yeah, I remember him now. Picked him up on a B&E when I was a rookie. Gotta be fifteen years ago." Don looked at Mac.

"According to this he's been in and out of Rikers. He only got out three weeks ago. Looks like he didn't waste much time. Reckon he was the one who broke into … Patty's? Why don't you have a word with her Don? Oh and take Adam with you." Mac looked mildly amused as he gestured towards the entrance to the alley where the young rookie was refusing to let Adam enter until he had seen some ID. Adam was doing a great impersonation of a security guard at an airport except for the fact that he was patting himself down. Don shook his head and went to vouch for him.

Don sneezed as he entered Patty's Pet Accessories. He looked around suspiciously but saw no animals. The old-fashioned bell that had rung as he entered brought a middle-aged woman with garish green eye-shadow scuttling from the back of the shop, the bead curtain rattling loudly as she pushed through it.

"Yes?" she asked nervously as though she half-expected Don to pounce on her. Don introduced himself and showed her his ID. Nodding she invited Don to follow her into the back room. Don glanced back at Adam who was already busily dusting the door for prints. The back room was small and cluttered. Three sewing machines were lined up along the back wall under two long shelves that held boxes of sewing materials. One wall had bolts of material stacked on top of one another while the other was dominated by hundreds of labelled photographs.

Patty smiled proudly at Don. "My clients." she announced gesturing to the wall. Don stared in amazement at the dogs … and cats … all wearing a variety of garments and collars. "I keep a memento of every one." Don peered a little more closely at one of the photographs. "Oh that's Ichabod, one of my more unusual customers. It was very hard to get a good fit but I think it turned out very well don't you?" Don stared at the small woman as he tried to decide who was crazier - Patty or the owner of the iguana with a deep red coat and diamanté encrusted collar?

"So … er … " Don wasn't sure where to start still somewhat distracted by the idea of somebody actually purchasing an outfit for an iguana. "... could you tell me what time you got here this morning?" This simple question opened a floodgate of information from the little woman who evidently needed no encouragement to talk. Patty lived in the apartment above the shop. She had come downstairs at six-thirty precisely to prepare for a 'fitting' when she had heard a noise from the front of the shop. On investigation she had been horrified to see someone bending down at the safe which held the cash register float over-night. She had screamed. He had fled. She had run upstairs and called 911. Then she had called her neighbour Moira who had the jewellery shop next door, Ben the owner of the clothing boutique, Glover who was Moira's tenant in the upstairs flat, her mother and her aunt, and then she had called her client to cancel the fitting. Don noted down the flood of details in what seemed to be record time and then joined Adam who had moved onto the safe.

"Place is as clean as a whistle." sighed Adam. "There are some prints on the handle and the boxes but I suspect they're the owners. You said the vic ...perp … whatever … was wearing gloves?" Don nodded as he peered at the two blue boxes inside the safe. "Looks like he didn't have time to take the cash and these are just customer addresses." Adam looked around the store before whispering conspiratorially. "Would you believe it? She indexes her customers according to the name of their pet." Adam pointed to the index card labelled Ichabod. "Seriously though, this is amazing. You know they have a parade in Central Park every year? Owners and their pets. Matching outfits are de rigueur ..." Adam giggled as he pointed at a small sailor outfit. "Maybe you should get this for Griselda as a thank you present for saving your life!"

Adam cringed at the warning look that Don sent in his direction but he didn't miss hearing Flack mutter something about 'bloody cats' under his breath as he stalked out of the store. Don had no doubt that the entire department probably now knew how his recent encounter with a bullet could have turned out much worse if it hadn't been for the timely intervention of the ship's cat. He made his way out of the shop and went house to house interviewing shop owners and the residents of the apartments above them but no one had seen or heard anything. He arrived back at the alley just in time to see the ME's van load up the body of Lennie Woodburn and drive away. Mac was stripping off his gloves and comparing notes with Adam.

"You got anything for me Don?" asked Mac. He nodded as Don gave him a brief resume of the interviews which had yielded a big fat nothing. "Okay! Could you give Adam a lift back to the lab?" Mac looked at his watch and a small almost imperceptible smile flickered across his lips. Don nodded. "I'll … er... catch up with you later." Much to Don's surprise Mac loaded his case into the Avalanche and locking it, walked off rapidly in the opposite direction. Don made for his car with Adam following when he suddenly stopped.

"Did he say where he was going?" asked Don.

Adam stopped short. "Er no. But he got a call about twenty minutes ago..." Adam felt like he was in trouble even though he didn't know why as Don's eyes narrowed.

"Did he smile when he answered?" asked Don.

Adam thought about it for a second. "Yeah, now that you mention it ..." Adam was unable to finish as Don took off at a jog in the same direction as Mac. Half curious, half panicked Adam followed. By the time he caught up with Don he was seriously out of breath. He leaned against the wall before like Don peering around the corner. Adam squinted in the bright light trying to figure what Don was doing. As his eyes adjusted they widened in surprise. Sitting across the street on the terrace of a coffee shop was Mac Taylor in dark glasses lounging in the early morning sun. Adam watched Mac stand up as a woman with long dark hair walked up to him. Adam's jaw dropped as she flung her arms around Mac's neck and kissed him passionately. Even more surprisingly Mac pulled her close as he kissed her back.

"Sonofabitch! I knew it!" Don blurted out making Adam jump. "The old dog!"

"Who is she?" asked Adam delightedly, eagerly anticipating being the one to spread a little gossip around the crime lab.

"Little Miss Purple Eyes!" muttered Don.

* * *

><p>Don was feeling extremely hot and cross by the time he reached the crime lab. He had run background checks on all the people in his canvass but with no result. Everyone checked out, not even a misdemeanour among them. No one had witnessed anything despite the fact that they all looked out for one another. The businesses on that row looked above board. All in all it had been a morning that had produced no results whatsoever. Don was used to having leads disappear into thin air but what had really irked him was, on the way to the Crime lab, he decided to make a surprise call to Dispatch. Other than wanting to know how she knew about the colour of his bed linen, he desperately wanted to meet the enigmatic woman with the seductive voice and the sharp sense of humour known only as Janice. He was out of luck, however, as her shift had finished early that morning and she was nowhere to be found. So he had been forced to head back out into the heat disappointed. The temperature had climbed steadily throughout the day and by the time he had reached his office at the precinct it was well into the eighties with a promise to climb even higher. As the elevator doors opened into the air-conditioned interior, Don paused for a moment to relish the cool interior.<p>

"Hey Don! Good to see you back in action. How's the leg?" Jo threw her arms around him in a welcoming hug.

"Pretty good thanks Jo. How's your case coming along?" he asked his mood lightening as he took in her delighted smile.

Jo threw her hands in the air. "Don't ask! Biggest lack of forensic evidence we've ever come across. No obvious motive and we can't even figure out how the perp did it."

Don frowned. "Thought it was a classic case of multiple stabbings. A bunch of ex-cons getting done in by one of their own. You mean you can't identify the weapon?"

"No we know exactly what kind of knife was used. We just can't figure out how three men sitting at a table playing poker can all be stabbed at the same time without one of them moving an inch. Lindsay says she might have a theory. She's waiting for Mac down in reconstruction to try to prove it." Jo was interrupted as her phone rang but before she wandered off down the hall, she covered the mouthpiece with her hand and grinned at him. "Did you like your present?" she mouthed and took off without waiting for an answer.

Don pinched the bridge of his nose and gritted his teeth as a wry expression crossed his face. He was beginning to suspect that everyone was probably in on the joke. Having completed his initial interviews and spied on Mac with Little Miss Purple Eyes, he had dropped Adam at the lab before going back to the office. On arrival, various colleagues had nodded a greeting or raised a hand but no one said anything to him. Don had to admit he had felt a little offended at the time until he arrived at his desk. Pulling back his chair he had almost shot out of his skin to discover a small black and white cat purring quietly on his seat. It was then that the office had interrupted into clapping, cheering and cat calls accompanied by much laughter at the look on his face. As everyone welcomed him back Don had inspected the animal more closely only to discover that the cat wasn't in fact real but a life-size replica wearing a 'Genuine Ship's Cat' collar tag. One of the older detectives had patted him on the shoulder and told him that he needn't worry as it was synthetic fur and the 'off' button was on the base. Then they had the gall to inform him that it has been proven that stroking a cat has a calming effect and could help reduce his stress and lower his blood pressure which at that particular moment, Don was sure was off the scale.

Finding no one else around in the various labs Don made his way to reconstruction where Lindsay was setting up three mannequins around a table laid with drinks and playing cards. "Hey Montana!"

Lindsay smiled and embraced him warmly. "Hey Don. Good to have you back. How's Griselda?"

"Funny!" He dead-panned. "Have you seen Mac?" Don casually picked up one of the crime scene photos that Lindsay had laid out on an adjacent table. "Whoa!" Don looked at Lindsay. "You can't be serious." Lindsay crossed her arms and nodded waiting to see what Don might make of the strange photographs. "Did the perp pick them up and position them back at the table like that?" Don asked as he looked at the three dead men still seated in their chairs, their heads flung backwards onto the backs of the chairs.

"No. There was no smearing and no disturbance to the blood pools. All the men were killed by a single knife wound just like that in their seats while playing cards presumably by the fourth man. Danny's trying to put together a list of potential suspects now." Lindsay watched Don carefully as he tried to work out the permutations.

"That's weird. I mean who would just sit there and watch while the people you are sitting next to are stabbed to death. You would have think one of them would have made a run for it … pushed the table over … knocked a chair. I mean … not just sit there unless..." Don's forehead ceased in concentration.

"... unless it happened too quick for them to react." Lindsay gestured to three, short-bladed, black-handled knives laid out next to the photographs. Don looked confused as Lindsay grabbed a marker pen and walked over to the mannequins. Don followed her over. Lindsay twisted her head round to look at the photograph Don was holding and then she marked the stab points on the mannequins with the marker pen before stepping back to admire her work. "Three vics. Three stab wounds. Three knives."

Don too stepped backwards to get a better view. He held the photograph out at arm's length to match the reconstruction to the photograph nodding in approval. As he did so three knives whistled past his head and buried themselves into the mannequins.

Lindsay beamed as Don turned to look at the door in open-mouthed astonishment. "Yes!" she squealed.

Mac peered at the models. "Sorry Lindsay. That last one was a little off. Must be out of practise." he muttered as he smiled at Don. "Jo said you were looking for me."

Don didn't move for a second as he looked at the three knives protruding from the dummies' torsos. He turned slowly to face his friend. "Mac, there are times you can be really scary. You know that don't you?"

Mac flinched but before he could respond Jo burst in followed by Sid. "You guys are not going to believe this." Jo's jewellery jingled like little alarm bells.

Mac grimaced not sure he wanted to hear what she had to say. "You're going to complicate things aren't you?" he asked.

Sid nodded. "I've just compared moulds of the wound tract from Lennie Woodburn your vic from the alley this morning." Sid took a deep breath. "It's a direct match to the wound tracts of our three poker victims from last night."

For a moment Lindsay, Don and Mac stared at him as they processed this new information. "Your vic was killed with the same kind of knife. Exactly the same kind of knife." Sid gestured towards the mannequins. "From all evidence a throwing knife and from where I was standing I'd say you look pretty good for it." Sid grinned at Mac.

Mac arched an eyebrow before smiling at the older man."I have an air-tight alibi Sid."

"I bet it's one with purple eyes." Don muttered causing Mac to glare at him. Jo and Lindsay looked at one in another in confusion but before any one could ask anything Adam came running in looking like it was his Birthday, Christmas and Thanksgiving rolled into one.

"Boss. You're not gonna believe this!"

"The two cases are related." They all chimed in unison.

Adam's face fell as he looked around the room, disappointment clearly showing on his face. He sighed. "Yeah ... I found poker guy number two's prints at the pooch parlour. "

"Who?" Everyone shouted at the same time making Adam cower apprehensively.

"Er … Jasper Goodrich … his prints were on the door handle and the counter in the store and on one of the dog collars."

Less than an hour later Don stood in Patty's Pet Accessories showing Patty a picture of Jasper Goodrich. "Oh yes I remember him. He came day before yesterday. Said he wanted a collar for his dog. Strange man."

"Strange in what way?" asked Don.

"Well first of all he didn't bring his pet with him not even a picture! How do you expect me to fit a client I haven't even seen. Secondly he didn't seem to know what kind of dog he had. Eventually he said he had a poodle. Now does he look like a poodle kind of person to you?"

Don looked at the picture of the heavy set man with large jowls and a bulbous nose. "More of a bulldog guy if you ask me." Don muttered not believing he was having this conversation.

"I was thinking more of a mastiff myself." Patty said seriously. "Anyway, he kept asking me about Ichabod. He seen me pictured with him in the paper. That's how he knew about my store."

Don looked at Patty in confusion. "Ichabod? The Iguana with the rhinestone collar?"

Patty laughed. "Oh no not rhinestones Detective! Diamonds! An exact match to his owner's choker. The most expensive item I've ever worked on." She explained excitedly.

Don's mind began to work overtime as he came to grips with the revelation and started to join the dots. One ex-con lying dead in an alley, three ex-cons stabbed by a fourth missing ex-con while playing poker and a fortune in diamonds. "Can you please give me the name and address of Ichabod's owner?"

Having got the name and address, Don rushed back to his car. He grabbed his phone, hit the speed-dial. "Mac? Listen up! You're not going to believe this but I think Lennie Woodburn broke into Patty's to get the address of an iguana … yes an iguana … owned by a Melissa Cartwell. … Because Melissa Cartwell owns a fifteen thousand dollar diamond choker and so does Ichabod, the iguana! No I am not joking!" Don gave Mac the address and set off for Lincoln Square, one of New York's smarter addresses. He dialled Melissa's number but the phone went over to voicemail. Don left a brief message. It took him a little under ten minutes to reach the address. He spoke to the doorman who confirmed that Melissa Cartwell had an apartment on the twentieth floor and did indeed own an iguana but he didn't recognise the picture of Jasper Goodrich. Don rode the elevator to the twentieth floor and stepped out into the hallway, his footsteps silent on the plush turquoise carpet. He rang the bell and after a few moments a small pretty-faced woman in a pink maid's uniform answered the door.

Flashing his badge Don asked for Melissa. The maid looked very worried. "I do hope Miss Melissa is all right? She is not in trouble. It is not bad news." Don assured her that everything was okay and that he just need to speak with her. "As I told the other man she is not here today. She is at the photo shoot. For charity. On a big yacht at the marina. I don't know where."

"What other man?" asked Don suspiciously.

"A big man with silver hair. He had strange eyes. The middles were brown but the edges were green. He said he needed to talk to her. He wanted to wait but I said no. I not let anyone in. Miss Melissa's orders. I said I call security but he left."

"When was this?" asked Don.

"An hour ago, maybe a little more." Don thanked her and called Mac relating the information. Don regained his car and headed towards the marina as he waited for Mac to call him back. As he pulled up his phone rang. Don was surprised to see it was Jo.

"Don, the man you are looking for is Wilson Crane. He did time with Jasper Goodrich and Lennie Woodburn. His speciality was jewel theft and he is known to have a violent temper… oh ... and he's a member of the American Knife-Throwing Alliance. He's ..."

"Let me guess ..." Don interrupted. "...big, silver-haired with strange eyes."

"Yes how did you know?" Jo's voice registered surprise. "He has Central Heterochromia where the iris is not of a uniform colour."

"Okay, I'm at the marina now. Do we know which yacht the photo shoot is on?" There was some discussion in the background as Jo checked with Adam.

"The Blue-Eyed Belle. Berth twenty. Don don't do anything stupid. Mac is on his way with back-up."

"Don't worry Jo. I'll be fine." Don hung up and released the catch on his holster as he made his way along the jetty leading to berths. Moving stealthily down the gangplank, Don was able to see the Blue-Eyed Belle at the end. The craft was a magnificent seventy foot white motor yacht with a dive-platform at the end. Don climbed aboard vaguely aware of sirens in the background making themselves known above the drone of the city. Making his way along the polished wooden deck towards the stern Don couldn't help thinking back to his previous escapade aboard a ship albeit a very different kind of vessel. Muffled voices came from below to his left. Don paused straining to hear what was being said. He flattened himself against the cabin drawing his Glock and risked a look around the corner. The sliding doors to the saloon were pushed back allowing the saloon and cockpit to extend into the sun-deck beyond. Don noticed several camera bags, a light reflector and a make-up kit abandoned on the outdoor seating.

"Catch that bloody animal!" came the gruff order from inside the cockpit. It was followed by a small scream. Don pushed himself back and checked his weapon. Looking back up the gangplank he could see several uniformed officers quietly making their way down the jetty towards him. Don sighed with relief. Risking another quick look Don was surprised to see a flash of red velvet with a long green and black tail scuttle across the deck towards the stern. A bald man in jeans and maroon tee-shirt burst from the doors as if propelled by an unseen hand. He looked absolutely terrified. He scuttled after the animal and managed to get a handful of material.

"Quick catch it!" Wilson Crane stepped out from the cockpit dragging a young blond woman by her hair. "Get me that collar!" he ordered.

Don stepped out raising his weapon. "NYPD. Hold it right there!" The young blond let out another small scream but her eyes fixed on Don with a mixture of relief and fear. Wilson Crane pulled her closer and whipped up a short black-handled knife holding it to her throat.

""Back off!" he growled. His eyes darted back and forth clearly startled at being challenged by a police officer who had appeared out seemingly of nowhere. He began to back away from Don towards the stern. The two men circled one another cautiously.

"Let her go Crane. You're surrounded. Give it up." Don watched as Crane's unusually coloured eyes flicked around spotting the uniformed officers on the gangplank advancing towards him. He glanced behind him at the stern stairs leading to the dive platform where the grey-green water lapped gently against the edge. "Come on Crane. There's nowhere to go." Don stalled for time trying to get a fix on Crane without risking getting Melissa shot. Crane backed closer to the stairs clearly contemplating a potential escape route. He glanced down at the terrified bald man at his feet who had managed to grab hold of the iguana, greed pushing him to make a try for the diamond collar around the lizard's neck.

"Give me the collar." he ordered. The cowering man, obviously the photographer judging by the light meter hanging from a string around his neck unhooked the collar and held it out. Crane hesitated, his grip on the knife at his hostage's throat tightening. "Don't move!" he hissed into her ear. He stretched out his free hand towards the diamond collar glistening in the bright sunlight oblivious to the dark figure rising slowly from the water onto the dive platform.

As Crane stretched his arm out, Melissa Carter grabbed his knife hand and spun around and away from the knife which nicked her throat. She screamed. Crane went to make a grab for her but was pulled sharply backwards, an unseen hand tugging at his trouser belt. Crane flew through the air to land heavily on the dive platform as Don lunged forward to prevent Melissa being pulled with him. The tearful young woman melted into Don's arms shaking as she held her hand to her throat.

Crane was astonished to find himself turned onto his stomach by a man who had already disarmed him and was slapping cuffs onto him.

Don looked down at the dive-platform and grinned at Mac who was dripping wet and sitting astride him reading him his rights. "Nice!" he commented to be rewarded by one of Mac's rare smiles. "Now that's what I call a stealthy approach!"

* * *

><p>Three hours later having completed the paperwork and left their culprit at Central Booking, Don joined Mac at their favourite diner for a well-deserved dinner. "Well it looks like Wilson Crane won't be seeing the light of day again. Four counts of murder not to mention attempted robbery and assault – he's going to be going away for a long time. And all for two diamond collars." Don looked up from the menu and smiled at the green-eyed waitress. "I'll have the Surf 'n' Turf Special." Mac smiled as he too placed his order for a simple steak.<p>

"So you got your two for one?" Mac asked cryptically. Don frowned. "Melissa?" he asked.

Don grinned. "Hey. Keeping exotic pets in New York is illegal and serves her right for spending fifteen thousand dollars on a ridiculous outfit for it. Creepy looking thing anyway. Kept staring at me." Don muttered remembering how grateful he had been when someone from Animal Control had taken it away. It was bad enough having that replica cat sitting on the corner of his desk. He shivered involuntarily. Fortunately the food arrived quickly and both men enjoyed a relaxed meal in one another's company. Although they talked a little shop they concentrated mostly on sports and news including the arrival of Ben's baby, a whopping 10lb baby boy, trying to wind down from the events of the day. Eventually Don plucked up courage to broach the topic that had been first and foremost in his mind for most of the day.

"So ..." Don swallowed heavily. "... how's things with Miss Purple Eyes?"

"Lisa?" Mac's smile grew somewhat enigmatic as he gave a one word answer. "Good." Mac reached for his coffee and sipped at it slowly.

Realizing that he wasn't going to get more Don tried for a more round-the houses approach unaware that Mac was suppressing a smile as he subtly sent a text message under the table. "So what's with the purple contacts?"

Mac nodded. "She has Heterochromia."

"What? Like our perp?" Don asked amazed, never having really encountered the condition before.

Mac nodded again. "Except that hers is complete Heterochromia rather than central." As Don looked at him in askance. "In other word she has one blue eye and one brown. So she wears contacts to make them the same colour."

"Oh! Why purple?"

Mac's eyes took on a mischievous twinkle. "They're not always purple. Depends what kind of mood she's in and what she's wearing."

Don's brows drew together. "You mean she matches her contacts to her clothes? But she mostly wears scrubs."

Mac licked his lips as a light blush coloured his cheeks. "Not underneath!"

Don's mouth fell open as he realized the implications. "You mean she matches them to her ..." Don jumped as his phone rang. _Dammit!_ Just when he was getting somewhere interesting. "Flack."

"Hey Handsome! Sorry to drag you away from your Surf 'n' Turf but you've got DOA on a bus over on Broadway. I'm sending you the address. You be safe now." The phone went silent as the line was cut before Don could say a word. _Surf 'n' Turf? What the hell_?

"You on secondary call tonight? … Everything all right Don?" Mac asked smiling at the look of utter incomprehension on Don's face. An answer wasn't forthcoming as Don was distracted looking around him. There were several patrons at the bar with their backs turned, three other tables all tucking into plates of steaming food. The waitress also had her back turned serving a couple of kids in one of the booths.

"How does she do that?" Don muttered under his breath.

"Who do what?" asked Mac innocently.

"Er … nothing. I gotta go." Don looked at Mac suspiciously his eyes narrowing. _Nah!_ "Thanks for dinner Mac. I'll be seeing you." Don grabbed his jacket leaving Mac to his coffee. Mac watched Don leave and picked up his phone looking at the screen to see that he had one new text message.

"Thanks. IOU." said the message. "Reply sent by Janice at 20:20."

Mac grinned and asked for the check.

_**The End.**_

_**Thanks for reading. **_

_**Don't forget to drop me a review even if it's only a little one.**_


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